Vhenan'ara
by Kreigen
Summary: Varric writes to Merrill after f!Hawke's encounter with the Nightmare Demon in the Fade with f!Inquisitor Adaar at Adamant Fortress. Will Merrill's heart be broken or will she be reunited with her Champion? What place is there left in Thedas for a tired warrior and a Dalish outcast? Angst/eventual fluff.
1. Lost For Words

Merrill didn't want to open the letter.

Although, that wasn't strictly true; she _did_ want to open the letter, but only if the subject matter she believed to be inside was explicitly positive.

The Dalish mage had recognised Varric's characteristic hand on the envelope as it had been handed to her by a young lad, a paid courier she expected. She had been so distracted by its arrival that she had tipped him far too much money, and the boy had left with gleeful haste, his scruffy mop of blonde hair bouncing as he ran off, while she had stared at his charge; paralysed with shock.

She supposed she should not be surprised. Hawke had been at pains to stress that her physical separation from her lover was only temporary, and out of necessity. There were higher callings to attend to, ends of the world to prevent, demons to skewer on her two-handed great sword. Eventually news would come of her fate, either way. Merrill knew this letter would contain one of two things: news of Hawke's location, or…

She tensed nervously at the thought of the alternative, digging her thin nails into the moulding wood of the table she sat at shakily. Merrill clasped her hands and self-consciously fingered the Sylvanwood ring that sat loyally on her left hand, exactly where a ring for marriage would sit if she could partake in such things. It had been a gift from Hawke many years ago, and she couldn't recall ever taking it off. She supposed she treated it like a wedding ring, practically speaking they had been together so long that Merrill considered Hawke the equivalent of her wife.

Oh, she would have gone with Hawke, if she had been given the _option_! But the warrior had _insisted_ Merrill stay with the elves, stay immersed in her efforts to aid those displaced by the terrible fighting and chaos that the Mage-Templar war had engendered. Merrill had been barely able to whisper _'Dareth shiral' _through the fierce tears that overtook her as Hawke had left; promising they would reunite, and swearing not to let Merrill put herself in danger for the _Champion _this time. She wouldn't tell Merrill where she was going or what it involved, because she knew the elf would only follow her. But Merrill had _known_ it was perilous, otherwise Hawke would not have been so cagey and isolated about it. The fact that she wouldn't allow her to come only spoke of the mortal risk Hawke was facing.

Merrill shifted her head to lean on a trembling hand, and closed her eyes to marshal her wayward tears into stillness. Deep shadows lay under her long, pretty eyelashes that had formed over many sleepless nights, and _somehow_ she looked slightly frailer than her trademark spindly frame usually conveyed. A cursory glance around her alienage shack would give the impression to anybody who didn't know her that she was a destitute squatter; the place was a mess. Tomes and papers lay scattered all over the floor, along with cracked crockery, splintered staffs, and discarded robes. It was a miracle that this building was still standing after the fighting, perhaps not so much of a surprise that nobody else had bothered to claim it in her absence from its chilly confines. The only thing that brightened it somewhat was the small wooden Halla that sat on the mantelpiece; another gift from Hawke that Merrill had somehow managed to salvage on her return to Kirkwall. Despite being somewhat battered, it still retained its charm…a bit like Hawke really.

She thought back to Hawke's Hightown mansion that they had _shared_, of the beautiful chandelier she had swung on one evening, of the four poster bed they had first made love in, Orana and her lute, Bodahn and Sandal, the Mabari hound that smelled of bog…all lost. Hawke had brazenly moved in a female Dalish lover in a neighbourhood which would judge her for dating anything less than a human noble male; and somehow they had made it work and created their own little corner of paradise.

Gone.

Merrill dared herself to open her eyes and look at the dreadful omen, taunting her from a hand's grasp away, and was instantly forced to take in a sharp intake of breath. She jerkily placed a hand forward and graced her ghostly pale fingers over the surface of the unopened envelope. Merrill instantly felt as if she had been hit by a bolt of enchanted electricity, and withdrew the fingers faster than if she had placed them into a flaming pyre. Her whole body shivered with a fell energy; two competing futures fighting for dominance in her fragile mind; one where she uprooted and left Kirkwall immediately, and one where the last shred of her tired heart was shattered irrevocably.

Both were exhausting prospects; but while one wanted her to rip the envelope open in anticipation, the other was making it impossible to touch the cursed thing.

"_Ma sa'lath_…" Merrill sighed, "Please…"

Filled with deep dread and heavy hands, Merrill finally made a tender grasp for the letter and brought back towards her fluttering breast. Suspending it there for a moment, she had to turn her head away as she hesitantly tore it open and slid out the neatly folded pieces of paper that ominously tempted her fingers to unfold it. She could only bring herself to look at it once her slender digits had opened the letter and laid the parchment neatly on the table before her.

Merrill steadied herself for a moment, trying to slow her breathing. Helping her fellow elves had been a poor distraction for her ultimate preoccupation of worrying over Hawke's fate; but now the answer was an eyelid's width away, she wasn't sure why she had been so eager to receive it. Sitting here like this was more torturous than being possessed by a demon, or being stuck in the fade with no means of escape. If she sat here forever, then perhaps Hawke could rest in this ambiguous state, where she was neither dead nor alive, but safely preserved in her dedicated lover's memory; like a lost spirit drifting across a forgotten city from a lost age.

But Merrill was far wearier than she had been all those years ago, when she had thrown herself into Hawke's arms and allowed herself to be swept off her feet by a charming warrior, far wiser than when they had their reliable group of friends spread over Kirkwall to lean upon, and she simply needed to _know_.

Taking one last, long drag of air, Merril opened her eyes to read the first line of the letter.

"_Daisy,"_

Well, at least that verified who the author was, Merrill thought.

Filled with trepidation, she continued.

"_I hope that everything is running smoothly for the elven refugees, and that you haven't been worrying yourself into a stupor."_

"Too late for that" Merrill grumbled wryly,

"_I'm sorry I haven't written sooner; I'm not going to sugar coat it for you, things have been pretty messed up. I suppose you have heard of the Inquisition by now?"_

Merrill inevitably had, who hadn't? They seemed to be somehow involved in every little trouble in Thedas, surrounded by intrigue and danger. At the head of it all was the mysterious Tal-Vashoth, flanked by the Lady Seeker Pentaghast and a rag-tag band of followers that included Leliana, companion of the Hero of Ferelden. Most of what Merrill had heard had been rumours, and she had more personal troubles to concern her with, rather than the grand political machinations that gripped the nation like an unshakable parasite. She had suspected Hawke might have been sucked into the endless vacuum of problems that had drowned the populace since the rift above Haven had tore open the very heavens, but had hoped she had been mistaken.

Merrill shook her head sadly and continued reading.

"_Why am I asking…of course you have. Not enough paper to explain everything to you properly Daisy, let's just say the rumours you have heard are probably nowhere near as extraordinary as the truth. Damn holes in the fade popping up all over the place like flowers, and not in a good way. Mages messing with the fabric of time, Templars drunk on the same red lyrium that ruined Meredith, makes me miss the Arishok sometimes."_

This revelation did nothing to calm Merrill's nerves.

"_It is true that the Inquisitor is a female Qunari (the Maker does have a sense of humour), ridiculously polite, you can tell she wasn't raised by the Qun, that is for sure. Inquisitor Adaar had done a fine job of taming the rabble, but she reminds me a bit of Hawke…uneasy with the power. You get the feeling she always wanted a quiet life. Even the Seeker is growing on me; apparently she has a soft spot for Swords and Shields! I seem to remember even you struggled to read that one. We've definitely got an interesting group of people forming here: crazy elves, apostates, a formidable woman with access to sharp objects…feels like the old days sometimes"_

The comparison made Merrill wince with wanting, and the mention of Hawke's name quickened the pace of her failing heart once more. This time she could not still it.

"_I'm going to skip to the relevant part and we can fill you in on the rest another time, I have a lot of damned letters to write. Do you remember all that bother with the Carta, and Hawke's family in the Vimmark Wastelands? With the dark magister Corypheus? Well…he is back, and with a pet archdemon to boot, wreaking havoc on all of creation as we know it. I realise this sounds as likely as the plot of one of my books, but unfortunately, it is all sodding true"_

The puzzle pieces were starting to tessellate, even in Merrill's disordered state, no _wonder_ they had wanted Hawke; who better to advise on the matter than the woman who supposedly killed him once already? Merrill had been present when they had felled him, and to think he had survived the beating they gave him was improbable at best. Merrill knew of the dark magic that existed in the Grimoires of old, but this was unspeakably evil, if it truly had come to pass.

Merrill kept reading, gripped, hungry for more information.

"_I'm afraid I'm going to have to strip the story down to the basics, or I'll end up crippling the poor messenger who sends you this with the weight of the paper, but we got into some deep shit. A group of Orlesian Grey Wardens were corrupted from Corypheus' influence: sacrifices, blood magic, demons, all the usual nonsense (no offence intended Daisy, I know you had your reasons for what you did). Hawke went with the Inquisitor to Adamant Fortress – a stronghold for the Orlesian Wardens, and predictably, the plan went quickly awry"_

Varric's casual tone was reassuring Merrill that the dreaded coup de grace that she had been expecting might not be coming; he probably would have mentioned it sooner if Hawke had died. But Merrill couldn't relax until she read it in concrete words – you could never be too sure with Varric, he was unpredictable and prone to elaborate storytelling, even in the face of terrible loss, and he could just be dithering to avoid breaking the crucial news. There was always the chance that he would not tell her where Hawke was if she was indeed in any sort of living state, she hadn't considered that.

Irritatingly, the dwarf had left the end of the page on a dreadful cliff hanger, and so Merril was forced to frantically flip the paper over.

"_I wasn't there to see it myself, but the party ended up trapped in the Fade in order to escape the demon that Corypheus controls. I'm glad I wasn't there – that time with Feynriel was enough. I'm sure you don't need to be reminded either."_

Merrill cringed with guilt and briefly had to look away from the letter, reeling from the memory of betraying Hawke in the fade. She still hadn't forgiven herself for succumbing to the persuasion of the Pride Demon and putting protecting (what she thought was) her people before her closest companion. These were, after all, the same people who had been one wrong phrase away from murdering her after the tragedy with Keeper Marethari; they had never deserved her devotion, and she wished she had not wasted so much time trying to elicit it. That very effort had been what pushed them away, ultimately.

Refusing to dwell on past burdens, Merrill regarded the letter once more.

"_I am told they were trapped by a Nightmare Demon, and it began taunting them with their greatest fears. I heard from the Seeker that the demon mentioned you to try and unnerve Hawke. Nasty, but clever I suppose."_

Merrill felt a spurt of icy chill in the back of her throat, morphing to deep nausea. The idea of a demon using her as a pawn against Hawke was a little too reminiscent of all the troubles that the brave warrior had already endured in the name of the Dalish blood mage's poor decisions. Perhaps it had been better not to bring Merrill along, it occurred to the elf that Hawke may have factored this into the decision she made to travel alone, and not told Merrill to avoid crushing her feelings. Merrill couldn't guarantee even to herself that the demon would not have taken advantage of her susceptible mage body and harnessed the power that came with it; perhaps it could have corrupted her in her entirety and Hawke would have been forced to kill her, or else forced to let the demon kill her. It would be just like when poor Leandra had become that terrible, amalgamated, reanimated puppet. Merrill grimaced shamefully, wondering if Hawke would be able to strike the blow on her if she was possessed; the final insult to the woman who had lost everything.

"_The party made it to the rift in the fade unscathed but were forced to battle a part of the Nightmare Demon, it wasn't enough, and it became apparent that someone would have to distract the demon in order to save the remaining party. Both Hawke and the Grey Warden Stroud, who accompanying them, offered to be the one to attack the demon, and Inquisitor Adaar was given the ultimate decision of choosing who stayed behind"_

All time seemed to suspend momentarily, and Merrill's slender palms shook so violently that she was in danger of dropping the letter, or not being able to read it, for it was moving so quickly. Her skin seemed to be ignited by some invisible fire which skirted over every inch of her body. Merrill realised she had paused on Varric's final sentence, and seemed incapable of going any further, despite the niggling feeling that Varric would not present the situation in such a dramatic light if Hawke had indeed been left behind in the fade. The mere possibility of it happening was enough, however, to draw every sensible thought from Merrill and shatter them into tiny pieces around her distraught body. She made a silent pact, that if Hawke had been trapped in the fade, she would take the blade to her skin, or perform whatever dark ritual was required, to go after her. It was irrational, and the exact opposite of Hawke would have wanted her to do, but the thought was comforting enough to persuade her to read ahead. Dying searching for Hawke was a more pleasing possibility than living in a world devoid of her.

Merrill allowed the terrible decision to wash over with a fanatic certainty, and it was enough to convince her eyes to drop to the next line.

"_The Inquisitor left Warden Stroud in the fade, Hawke is safe Merrill."_

A warm tide of delirious relief flooded over Merrill like a wave of beautiful, liberating light. The effect was so profound that the slight elf almost passed out with the euphoric rush that accompanied it. Her face was damp with happy tears before she had acknowledged that she was crying so heavily; they had come with no warning. It was incredibly telling that Varric had deviated from her usual nickname in this revelation; even he acknowledged this was not something to be cocky or blasé about.

"Ma serranas…" she heaved through broken sobs, "Ma serranas, ma serranas"

Though she had never met this Tal-Vashoth, she found herself feeling impossibly indebted to her. As much as Merrill doubted the heroic Stroud deserved his fate, Hawke had spent her entire life cleaning up after the mistakes of others, and it seemed just to Merrill that the Wardens were held accountable for their own predicaments, even if it was only slightly the lesser of two great sacrifices. She spoke a silent prayer to the fallen Stroud, blessing him for his bravery, and knowing she would never repay the great service he had inadvertently paid her. For once, it seemed, Hawke had been saved by someone else, though she knew the Champion would not be glad of accepting the demise of another in her place.

Bleary eyed, she read on eagerly, now buoyed with the possibility of finding out her lover's location.

"_Daisy, I don't want tell you what to do, and I know you probably wouldn't listen anyway. Hawke didn't want you caught up in the mess, and honestly, she was right. I wish I'd never dragged Hawke into this in the first place, I wish had just kept lying to the Seeker. I almost got her killed and I can barely look myself in the eye for it. But she needs you. The experience in the Fade was more traumatic than even I could describe with all my exaggerations, and if I know Hawke well enough, she will blame herself for Stroud's death."_

Merrill wiped her sore eyes, regaining a meek control on her tattered emotions. The idea of Varric shaming himself for all this demonic nonsense was just another horrible side effect of this impossible situation. Everything was so knotted that Merril was having trouble delineating all the different strands of consequence that her friends were ensnared in – like the angry vines which grew from her deep, natural magic. But she could not control the terrible ties that were suffocating Hawke, or Varric, and that frightened her so thoroughly that she returned to the letter to avoid thinking about it, moving on to the second piece of paper.

"_Hawke is more alone now I think she has ever been, and now I can't keep watch over her either. I would say I don't want to put ideas in your head, but I know there is nothing I could do to anyway to stop what I am going to suggest – as you would already be preparing to do it as soon as I tell you what I am about to tell you._

_Hawke shouldn't have to face what is coming alone, Daisy. Things are getting so serious that I genuinely fear that we won't all live to tell the tale about it in The Hanged Man over celebratory drinks. _

_She had gone to Weisshaupt Fortress to address the Grey Wardens, the stronghold in the southern Anderfels. I expect she will stay there for a while to help settle things, she will believe that she owes it to them after they lost Stroud. _

_Go to her Merrill."_

The elf was stunned still by Varric's admission. She realised that she hadn't honestly expected him to relinquish Hawke's location, it had been a vague hope cowering at the back of her mind, crying out in the dark, not expecting to be released.

The only reason she could surmise for him going so blatantly against the wishes of one of his best friends, was that the whole affair was in such a dire state that he feared Hawke would die. He had good reason to anticipate it happening considering that Hawke's life had already nearly ended on the same chance as a coin flip. Now this had shaken his resolve, she understood why he wouldn't want Hawke to suffer in stoical solitude. Perhaps he even felt regret for denying Merrill the knowledge of Hawke's whereabouts sooner; given that Hawke had almost been taken away from her in her absence?

Trying to work out the motivations of the roguish dwarf was like trying to swim in a sea raging with towering, competing waves of thought. He was far more complex than he would dare to admit.

"_But please don't tell her I said that, or anyone else for that matter"_

Merrill managed a smirk; _that_ was more like the notorious Varric she remembered.

"_Anyway Daisy, it's your call. _

_If you need me, I'm at Skyhold. But I doubt you will. _

_Please stay safe, and try not to stray into any gardens that don't belong to you. More trouble is on the way, and I don't think it will discriminate on who it hurts, no matter how adorable you might be to us._

_If you do see Hawke, tell me she owes me a drink._

_Your faithful friend,_

_Varric"_

Emotionally exhausted, Merrill let the pages of the letter drop into her lap as she sighed and let her petite head fall back towards her aching shoulders. Closing her eyes, she briefly indulged in a short daydream that the tall, muscular Hawke would materialise behind her and massage the pain out of her tired body. But she couldn't enjoy the fantasy, and soon a demon invaded the image, striking a grizzled hand through Hawke's unarmoured breast.

Starting up out of the chair in shock, and letting the letter fall to the floor, Merrill was forced to take command of her now heavy breathing as the vile image dissolved out of her mind and focus on her next move. Weisshaupt would be a long, arduous journey, especially in her current condition, but there was no choice implied. The thought of being reunited with Hawke was like being injected with pure lyrium, igniting her veins with a pulsating energy that drove her near insane with the urgency of its beating. It was a forgone conclusion that she would go to her, and whilst leaving behind the elves was not a proud notion, it would not be first time she had abandoned her own race to run to Hawke's side.

She also doubted it would be the last.

She knew a couple of more senior elves who would look after the rest, they could surely do without her, and even if they could not, she loved Hawke too much to let the concern become a priority. She would leave tomorrow, at the first sign of light. She would take little, enough to sustain the journey, but no comforts. There was much to prepare, and becoming business-like and driven with the endeavour helped to keep Merrill from obsessively re-reading and re-interpreting the words that Varric had bestowed upon her. By the time she had dealt with all the practical preparations, she had fallen into a fitful sleep, splattered with nightmares where Hawke died in a variety of creative and awful means.

The thread between the elf and the human has always been tight, but now she felt it tug, even from across the miles, and she was bound to its pull no less than the Darkspawn to an Archdemon, or the Grey Wardens to their Calling. It was a song she would always answer with the answering harmony; a destiny she had dedicated herself to since the first days of discord with her people had been paralleled with the melody of a beautiful stranger, walking into the Dalish camp and deviating the course of her life forever.

"Ma Vhenan…" Merrill murmured in her sleep, "Ma Vhenan…"


	2. Lost In Dreams

**A/N - I lied...making this at least a three-parter now, this story is too much fun to shorten it! :)**

**Thanks to all the readers so far! Yay for f!Hawke x Merrill fans!**

**Warning...some descriptions of violence in this chapter, just in case that effects you.**

* * *

><p>"<em>You should have listened to me"<em>

The voice was ominous, deep, and seemingly ubiquitous. Hawke couldn't identify just what direction it was coming from; it felt like it was sounding from everywhere.

"_Did you think me the type to make idle threats?"_

Hawke recognised the source of the taunting, and it drew the breath forcefully out of her lungs to acknowledge the cruel tone of the Nightmare Demon again, mere weeks after she thought she had escaped it. If it hadn't been for the terrible scene that was stealing away the main bulk of her attention, she might have been more concerned about its return.

Hawke was once again in the deep realms of the Raw Fade, surrounded by the same ethereal, rocky landscape, oppressed by the green hue that pervaded everything. Pools of glowing filth scattered the broken corrupted ground, and the sky (if you could call it that) was a menagerie of colours that seemed to refuse to stay constant. If Hawke looked away and back again, or even simply blinked, the composition and structure of the environment seemed to shift: a mountain would flip to its own mirror image, a cluster of rocks would disappear, or she would suddenly appear to be facing in a different direction. It was incredibly disorientating, and happening at a far faster rate than she remembered from her previous experiences in the Fade.

Before her stood Corypheus, his corrupted features just as repulsive as she remembered, perhaps ten to twenty metres away, but no matter how hard she charged at him, he never seemed to get any closer. She would find she had been running in the wrong direction, or up a circle that led her upside down and back to the spot she had started, or find she was tripped by a mysteriously materialising cluster of debris.

But she kept trying, desperately continuing to push and reach him despite the futility of the action. Her breath was ragged, her heart pacing and skipping with the anxiety and frustration, and her skin coated with a thick gloss of sweat. None of this particularly bothered Hawke, at least not compared to what Corypheus was holding in one of his long, hands, talons grasped unforgivingly tight.

Merrill. Or rather Merrill's neck, grasped suffocating hard and suspending the tiny mage in the air as Corypheus floated ominously in his darkspawn-infused magister's robes, his gnarled face starting unforgivingly in Hawke's direction. But he wasn't moving, or speaking, just holding the thrashing elf as she began to choke and cough, desperately trying to inhale.

No…no this was exactly what Hawke had been trying to avoid. How had this happened? Leaving Merrill behind in Kirkwall was supposed to have protected her! How had Corypheus found her?

"_How many more sacrifices for the Champion?"_

Hawke drove her legs into the ground, pushing harder towards the terrible magister as the life ebbed out of Merrill like a bleeding wound. The elf was wearing the same green robes and sole-less shoes the first day they had met, she looked just as Hawke remembered her when they had greeted on the path at Sundermount. It was a cruel reminder of all that had been lost, of how innocent they had once been.

"_You let a Grey Warden fall for you – Stroud, an innocent man. But if you had died that day then you would have abandoned Merrill – and you know she would turn back to blood magic. I have made it so you can never win."_

Hawke frantically thrashed past floating rocks, pieces of detritus that seemed to be projected directly at her face; she finally seemed to be getting closer to Corypheus, close enough to see the paroxysm of pain that overtook Merrill's usually calm features. She couldn't breathe; he was tightening the clasp around her throat.

"_You may play the hero, but you are a scared little girl, and everyone you have ever loved followed that scared little girl into oblivion"_

Hawke finally found herself within striking distance of Corypheus, but suddenly her hands felt unnaturally light. She looked down to see her greatsword had vanished, leaving her to look up meekly at the strangely still magister, shaking with dreadful anticipation and unable to reach him as he suddenly rose higher into the fell atmosphere. She jumped and made to catch a foot to drag him down, but landed heavily on her metal greaves.

"_She is the last, and without her…"_

A sickening crunch shattered through the air that seemed to permeate through Hawke's trademark heavy armour and vibrate through her bones as Merrill's limp body crashed unceremoniously to the floor, and crumpled to the hard ground. Hawke reflexively rushed forward and fell to her knees, pulling the elf into her arms; but her neck and head were strewn in an inhumanly acute angle, her forehead rocking forward gruesomely with little resistance. Hawke drew back the loose head and whined involuntarily as she saw the vacant, lifeless stare in the once beautiful emerald eyes. Corypheus had snapped Merrill's throat with one fell jerk, and the delicate pretty face lolled uselessly in Hawke's desperate grasp.

"_You are nothing"_

Numbness overwhelmed Hawke as she clutched hopelessly onto the flimsy, petite body in her arms, burying her face into Merrill's breast, terribly bruised and raw around her slender windpipe, and hoping she could reanimate her by force of will alone. The elf flopped pathetically, like a child's toy in a dreaming girl's arms.

Hawke bit hard into her lower lip as she began to roar with a grieving agony, in as much pain as if someone had cut her open and pulled out her vital organs while she still breathed. She would endure that, to reverse this awful fate, to bring her back. Suddenly the appeal of blood magic did not seem so unreasonable, if she was capable of such devilish acts. She would not be above making a deal with a demon it if it would cease the dull weight pulling down on her heart, bring the feeling back into her freezing limbs.

Hawke looked up, ready to avenge Merrill and strike out at Corypheus, wishing to die in the act of retribution, but saw only the canopy of their four poster bed in Hightown. She was in her mahogany robes that she had used to wear at home when she still lived there, Merrill was in her underclothes, still unequivocally dead, her body heavy with wounds and discolouration from fighting. Hawke could barely move with her terror, the scene was so abhorrent; one of her fondest memories corrupted. She screamed in pure panic.

"_This was inevitable since this day. Love is a curse, a weakness. It will destroy you both."_

* * *

><p>Hawke awoke from the desperate thudding of her heart against her struggling chest, as if the deceptive organ was trying to free itself from the muscular woman to escape the nightmare itself. The Champion was sweating profusely, her whole body stuttering and weak as she sat up and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. Hawke rubbed her sore eyes with the back of her trembling hands, and found them wet with involuntary tears. Beads of perspiration ran down her cheek and dripped onto her exposed stomach, making her shudder at their dull thuds against her taut skin.<p>

Yet another dream. Every night since the encounter with the Nightmare Demon she had dreamt vividly, and with each night they became more violent and realistic. One night she had been unable to stop the Arishok from beheading Isabela, in another Varric had been transformed into a monster by red lyrium, a particularly bad one had seen her entire family confront her – each one blaming her for their deaths. Hawke knew little of the Fade, but this persistence of the nightmares made her fear the demon was still lurking there, capturing her mind as she slept, manipulating her even in the 'real' World, and it was torturous.

The worst dreams however, were the ones involving Merrill. Hawke may have brushed off the demon's threats to her lover to save face in front of Inquisitor Adaar and Warden Stroud, but these spirits were clever, and it knew exactly where Hawke's weak spot was placed. One particular dream has seen Hawke trapped behind an invisible wall as she watched Merrill perform a blood ritual to try and find Hawke in the Fade and subsequently become possessed by the exultant Nightmare Demon. In another she had seen Merrill ambushed by a pack of blight-infected wolves on the way to try and seek Hawke out in Thedas, and been forced to watch as they tore her apart before she ultimately realised that she _was_ one of the wolves and it was her own jaws that were closing around the elf's tiny body. In perhaps one of the oddest ones, Hawke and Merrill were both stood upon the Gallows in Kirkwall, ready to be hanged for their part in the mage rebellion, when Hawke found her own hands around the lever, and had pulled it back to bring about both their deaths.

Such imaginings were not normal, and she was convinced that something residual had to still be lurking in her consciousness from the incident at Adamant. She never became lucid in the dreams however, and it was always at the peak of their merciless despair that she found herself waking into a blind frenzy, cursing and thanking the Maker in the same ragged breaths. Then she would reach across the bed out of habit, before the grim realisation she was alone hit her like the strike from a boulder hurtling from an ogre's arms.

Hawke sighed resignedly as her heart rate returned to an acceptable level and her skin began to dry, and swung her weak legs over the edge of the bed, throwing a loose shirt over her naked upper half. She had taken to sleeping this way due to the sheer amount of time she awoke drenched in her own fear; it was creating a terrible amount of washing.

Hawke shivered at the chill coming in through the far window, and shuffled around the bed to stare longingly out into the night. The sky was unnaturally clear, and it eerily spotlighted the various, cascading round towers of Weisshaupt Fortress, and into the distance the sharp drop of the isolated hill the stronghold stood on, leading out into an indecipherable darkness beyond.

She didn't want to be here; she felt completely out of place with the duty-bound, organised Wardens, but she felt obliged to stay until Corypheus was defeated. If it was not for her, the Wardens would still have Stroud, a good man and a potential leader of the dilapidated order. Instead the Wardens got a disillusioned Champion, stuck between the shame of allowing another die in her name, and the guilt of almost sacrificing herself so wantonly. Still, they wasted little time in utilising her small, but vital knowledge of the notorious magister, or putting her to work training some new recruits. Once again, Hawke had found herself sucked into the problems of others, a habit she was clearly never intended to break. The only other option would be to return to Skyhold or Kirkwall. Returning to Kirkwall was not acceptable; Hawke was certain that she would drag even more trouble to a city already heaving with the weight of its own disorder. Neither did she feel she could return to Skyhold when there was so much work to do repairing the damage struck to the Wardens, by the Wardens at Adamant. Hawke had no desire to vie for power against the Inquisitor that had saved her life, and someone had to keep an eye on these unreliable guardians of Thedas. With Stroud gone the responsibility fell on Hawke's heavy shoulders.

Her heart was still in Kirkwall though, far across the miles in the hands of the woman she had left behind. If she cursed Corypheus most for anything, it was for creating a danger so unspeakable that she had been forced to face it alone. Hawke dreaded to think what the Nightmare Demon may have done to Merrill's susceptible mage body; the contemptuous, self-assured Vivienne may not have been a target for possession, but Merrill had used blood magic in the past. Hawke shook her head sadly; that was assuming Merrill had not been killed outright, or left behind…

Tears threatened to encroach on Hawke's sore cheeks once more, and she opened the window slightly to let a calming breeze wash over her face. She could not allow herself to become emotional, not when there were crucial decisions to be made and a war to be won. Her loneliness and isolation were penance for not only Stroud's death, but all the people who had fallen under her banner. If she had to see this battle out in solitude to protect the last family she had, then so be it. Her feelings were relatively unimportant in comparison.

At least out here, she was safe from detection. Merrill might have worked out that Hawke had some involvement in the Inquisition, and made her way to Skyhold of her own accord. She didn't expect the elf to pay any attention to her instructions the second she found out where the Champion was. Weisshaupt was at least obscure enough to keep her safely away from Hawke's apparently poisonous influence.

Hawke grimaced uncomfortably, knowing that her logic was completely counter-intuitive, and that she didn't truly believe what she was saying. If she shut the deafening yell of her own thoughts out for just a small moment, she could almost feel Merrill's slender hand slink into her own, enjoy the pressure of the elf's head as it rested on her rounded shoulder, or smell Merrill's faintly floral scent as she moved closer to the human's face, eyes wide with wondrous desire.

Sadly, she broke away from the illusion, knowing it was tantamount to self-immolation. When had she become so hard? Hawke had been a diplomatic idealist once, nearly always able to talk her way around a difficult situation, and giving the benefit of the doubt to more people than strictly necessarily. Somewhere along the past few months her legendary patience had snapped, and now this cynical husk was left staring out to the empty horizon, pragmatically severing herself from the last thing that retained her struggling humanity.

Hawke sorrowfully pulled the window shut, and shambled back to the noticeably empty bed, spotlighted and uninviting. She allowed herself to collapse, and succumbed to the risk of her own, troubled mind.

* * *

><p>"Serah Hawke!"<p>

'You've got to be kidding me…' Hawke thought, miserly and suffering from lack of sleep as the ramming on her door drew her unceremoniously out of her surprisingly peaceful slumber, 'Can't I be left alone for one morning?'

Groaning, but ultimately used to such intrusions, Hawke rose uncertainly and unwillingly. Rubbing her face ferociously, certain that her night's crying would be evident on her face, Hawke regarded the door to her tiny room.

"What is it?" she snapped spikily.

A young, male warden burst though, slightly breathless, his long black locks falling out of his ponytail, terribly astray and dishevelled as if he had sprinted to Hawke's room. He wore the leather hunter's armour of a rogue, and if it wasn't for his rounded face and ears, Hawke could have mistaken him for an elf he was so slight. She vaguely recognised him; she was sure he stood guard at the gate occasionally. She imagined him to be an archer, somehow.

"So sorry Serah, but…"

"Someone needs something?" Hawke replied sarcastically, "Something has gone wrong?"

"No…" The lad frowned his thin eyebrows in confusion, clearly missing the joke and turning pale with nerves, "You have a guest"

This revelation was enough to pique Hawke's attention, but she still found herself waiting for the catch, everyone _always_ wanted _something_ from her. This visitor was unlikely to be any different; if they knew she was here with the Wardens, they were inevitably involved in the Inquisition. Perhaps a call back to Skyhold? Hawke shook her head ruefully, resigned to the prospect of entertaining an unwelcome intruder and their demands, despite her pathetic condition and lack of sleep.

"Just give me a moment…" Hawke pushed herself up once more, "I need to prepare"

"She was very insistent Serah…" the young man stammered,

'Maker, what now?!' Hawke thought to herself, frowning as she tried to look around for more appropriate clothing amongst the piles of belongings that cluttered her limited floor space. The tiny room was practically a bed, a wardrobe, and a tiny slither of stone floor space. The Wardens had been very clear that she was lucky to get this, and not be bunking up with all the others. Hawke guiltily acknowledged that there was a possibility this room was intended from Stroud. The man seemed embarrassed to see Hawke walking around in bedclothes, as he turned his gaze respectfully away as Hawke pulled out a leather vanguard coat and sturdy hunting trousers from some pack in the corner of her room.

"Well she will have to wait" Hawke replied sternly.

"I…I don't trust her Serah!" he blurted out suddenly, "Apostates turning up out of the blue, after all that fuss at Adamant…"

'Wonderful' Hawke thought, 'As if I hadn't had enough of bloody mages already!'

"If she turns into a demon I'll let you know" Hawke growled, her tolerance of the skittish Warden wearing dangerously thin as she came to stand directly before him, "Now let me get dressed will you? Send her up in a moment"

"Are you sure Serah?" the man answered, gobsmacked that Hawke would let a stranger up into her (albeit lowly) quarters. Little did he know how normal this was for Hawke after her time as Champion of Kirkwall.

Hawke looked up from under her deeply furrowed brow, and hit the man with such a predatory glare that he practically yelped and ran back down the way he had come from, slamming the door behind him.

Hawke silently scolded herself for being so unnecessarily mean to the vulnerable young man; he had survived the joining after all, so he must have some strength in his slender frame. She guessed she had developed such an intimidating presence recently that anyone would be rightfully uneasy in her presence. Hawke slumped her shoulders and began to change her clothes; her treatment of the lad was yet another sign her humanity was slowly slipping from her clambering hands. There was nothing left to soften the edges any longer, she felt jagged and hard as one of Isabela's trademark daggers, and no less deadly. A tool to stab people with…that sounded about right.

Hawke could hear a commotion outside, the sound of someone pushing past someone else, a scuffle perhaps? It was hard to keep the Wardens together sometimes after all the betrayal and confusion that was dividing the ancient order. As she slipped on an undershirt and pulled the leather coat over the top, her attention was drawn again to the sound of raised voices and the decisive stomp of feet towards her door.

"Looks like trouble" Hawke murmured, wishing she had listened to the lad's warning. Instinctively she moved to where her greatsword lay propped against the wall and ran her hands over its reassuring hilt. A Venatori assassin perhaps? Her mind was prone to jump to the most depressing conclusion of late. Brushing her horribly greasy hair, thick with nights of cold sweat out of her eye line, Hawke braced herself for whatever was coming for the door.

The door threw itself with such ferocity that Hawke was briefly surprised that it didn't knock the wall behind it down as it slammed into it unforgivingly. 'Impressive' Hawke smirked, 'But no subtlety', but her mirth was soon lost as she saw the figure that rounded through the doorway into her room.

"Serah Hawke" the young Warden shouted from behind the visitor, "Shall I call for reinforcements?"

Hawke was struck speechless, only able to stare at the woman who gazed back at her with the same wonderment.

"Serah!" the man had returned with an armed bow a few paces back from the intruder, the point of an arrow raised threateningly at her back, "Shall I…"

"GET THAT AWAY FROM HER!" Hawke bellowed, fury igniting through her warrior's cry, the embers that had been doused for weeks suddenly raging with the force of a forest fire, as she pointed accusingly at the pale young rogue. The woman in the doorway did not flinch.

The young man was so terrified he dropped the bow and scampered hastily back to a group of conferring Wardens, watching the scene with interest from down the passageway which led to her door, murmuring in hushed whispers.

Hawke didn't care; the greatsword had slipped from her hands to the floor before she could catch it in her relaxed palms. She could only gawp and drink in the sight that greeted her, one that she had feared would not live to experience again. Her mouth was open in a strange mix of complete disbelief and joy, with only strange noises managing to escape her voice box when she attempted to speak.

The visitor spoke first, having the advantage of preparation for this encounter.

"Hawke…" she smiled, coughing and spluttering with the effort of trying to encapsulate her own enraptured tears, "_Ma Vhenan"_

"_Merrill…" _Hawke breathed, the words seeming alien yet satisfying on her tingling tongue.

The elf rushed forward and threw herself into the warriors tired arms, and Hawke embraced her with an unrivalled hunger. As if by some untold enchantment, Hawke felt a part of herself that she had not noticed to be missing suddenly feel fulfilled, like the last piece of an infuriatingly complex puzzle found lurking in a deserted corner.

She held on, mentally cataloguing every curve in her elven body, the taste of her face as she frantically kissed it in every open space, and the _life_ in Merrill's eyes as they dilated at meeting her own.

No dream or nightmare was as convincing as this.


	3. Found

**A/N - thank for all reviews, kind messages, etc. :) **

**Took a lot more time with this as I wanted to avoid writing a massive ball of fluff!  
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**I may return to this couple if I get a good enough idea in the future :)**

* * *

><p>After the initial rush of euphoria at Merrill's return began to settle, and Hawke's hormones had peaked and begun to decline, the Champion's common sense clattered through her cloud of relief and began to clear the air. Her body clung to Merrill like a rope hanging from a steep cliff, but she had to recognise that there was still a sheer drop below her. No matter how easy it would be to close her eyes and suspend herself in this perfect segment of time, she had to find a way to climb back up to safe ground.<p>

"But…" Hawke drew back from Merrill reluctantly, placing her hands around the elf's dipped chin to bring her eyes directly into her gaze, "How…?"

Merrill bit her lip sheepishly, as if she didn't want to admit the answer and broke the intense gaze with her lover momentarily, looking caught between loyalties. Hawke's mind was reanimating and working faster than it had been able to in days and it didn't take a moment for her to quickly make the connection.

"Varric" Hawke stated factually, and Merrill glanced back at Hawke in surprise, as if the Champion had been able to read her mind. It was touching that some of the elf's naivety had managed to survive the brutal mauling it had sustained between Sundermount and their flight from Kirkwall; it reminded Hawke that there was a kernel of their old souls still lingering underneath the war wounds that had savaged their identities. If Hawke hadn't already been certain of the dwarf's rejection of her wishes, Merrill's reaction confirmed it for definite.

'_Maker damn you Varric'_ Hawke internally swore, _'Must you insist on knowing my own needs better than I do myself?'_

"Please don't be angry at him Ma Vhenan" Merrill pleaded, "He was…"

"Worried about me" Hawke stated flatly again, and this time Merrill nodded her assent softly into Hawke's palms.

'_From Champion to charity case…'_ Hawke thought, with a dreadful cynicism that must have translated to her face, because Merrill frowned and pulled away from her grasp.

"And so he should have been!" the elf stressed, bottled anger escaping its confined faster than a wine bottle smashed against the walls of The Hanged Man, "Confronting demons in the fade? Storming Grey Warden castles?" Merrill paced, gesticulating wildly, "Offering yourself as a sacrifice?!"

Hawke visibly shrunk, chastened by the (admittedly) deserved reprimand.

"_By the Dread Wolf_, have you not done enough for this cursed land already?!" Merrill stopped still in her frantic circuit she was beating into the floor, "Do you really think you owe them all this?!"

'_Why tell her all that?' _Hawke banefully cursed, _'What else does she know?'_

"Yes!" Hawke exclaimed, gripping her fists tightly to try and relieve some tension before she lost her temper, "But I didn't know all that was going to happen Merrill, how could I?" she finished, more calmly, trying to placate the visibly furious mage.

"Because it always gets…complicated when people try to involve you" Merrill whispered, her rage dissipating and mutating to grief faster than Hawke could follow, "I should have been there with you Hawke"

"No" Hawke interjected, swiping her hand decisively across her body, "It was too much of a risk, the whole expedition was a death trap"

The one thing she could be certain about the entire encounter in the Fade was that it was the _last_ place she would want her dearest companion to be dragged to. Hawke could barely justify why she had been there herself, which was making explaining it to Merrill difficult.

"Exactly!" Merrill countered, jumping on the obvious contradiction in Hawke's statement her mood flipping again, "I…" Merrill was forced to stop as she became overwhelmed, clearly tussling with a confusing mix of emotions, "I wonder sometimes if there is a small part of you that _wants_ to get herself killed!"

Hawke had no answer to Merrill's outburst; the terrible fact was she had often wondered that about herself too. Hawke dropped her head and walked to sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped guiltily before her like a woman waiting for judgement. She stared at her calloused hands, feeling oddly detached from the appendages, as if they were floating by some form of enchantment. At her lack of rebuttal, Merrill continued.

"_Emma lath_…" Merrill breathed, "Do you think so little of your own life? Do you not think you matter? To _me?_"

Hawke wasn't anywhere close to suicidal, not in the sense that most people would think of it. She had never _aimed_ to end her own life, but a sneaking part of her had started to believe recently that it would be _right_ if she gave her life in battle; as if it would make up for Bethany's darkspawn corrupted face, or Carver's broken bones. The Hawke bloodline had a sense of doom about it, and after all, it wasn't as if she was going to propagate it any further. Back in the Fade there had been a sense of _finality_ when she had offered to be the martyr for the rest of the party, and for a moment, it felt blissful to imagine being able to rest. When it was put to her so bluntly though, by someone she respected, it all seemed like yet another colossal waste of energy. Like an animal slinking away to die in a quiet corner, believing itself to be injured, but instead starving to death through apathy.

"No Merrill" Hawke croaked out uncertainly, "I genuinely meant for you to stay behind to keep you safe. What happened in the Fade was not intended…I'm not trying to die."

"That isn't what I meant" Merrill strained, "Hawke…it's almost as if you are daring the Gods to strike you down! Putting yourself in harm's way is…" Merrill shook her head disbelievingly, "It's like an addiction!"

Hawke stayed quiet as Merrill's words rippled through the air, and settled to rest on her fidgeting hands. The warrior could sense Merrill's retraction before her lover had ever drawn breath to speak it. Another one of her predictabilities; the elf would lash out when she was afraid, but Hawke knew Merrill hated confrontation and ultimately cared far too much for her own good. Hawke didn't claim to fully understand the incident with the Eluvian, or whether Maratheri had truly needed to take the demon into her own body for Merrill, but the Champion had never understood why Merrill had worked so tirelessly on their behalf when they clearly rejected her. A blood mage with a heart of gold…Hawke smiled down at the floor involuntarily at the thought. Merrill was the only person who could make the accursed strain of enchantment seem to be so well-intentioned.

"_Abelas…ma vhenan"_ Merrill whimpered, "I…I…just know what it…" her words struggled through her encroaching fit of crying.

"Feels like? I know" Hawke consoled, and looked up at Merrill reassuringly, almost breaking within when she caught the torn look blemishing the elf's face, "I probably should listen to you more often…" she chimed mischievously, trying to lighten the mood.

Merrill tittered girlishly through the remnants of her sobbing, in an endearing way that made Hawke yearn for her the Dalish woman's proximity. It was all-too reminiscent of the bemused laugh that had accompanied Merrill's response to Hawke's impromptu proposal to move in together. Hawke shuddered suddenly and winced at the memory of the nightmare, of Merrill's broken body in her arms, of that precious moment _poisoned_. The movement didn't go unnoticed by the elf.

"Hawke?" Merrill started forward, concerned.

"It's…" Hawke considered saying 'nothing', but quickly re-assessed the situation and decided honesty would work in her favour, given that she didn't want to provoke Merrill further, "I've been having terrible dreams…nightmares really, ever since the incident in the Fade" Hawke gazed up searchingly at Merrill, "Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Nightmares?" Merrill walked over to the bed, and Hawke felt a rush of warm satisfaction as the slender body of her lover came to sit next to her own, taking up one of her hands in the process, "Like when…" she hesitated, taking time to slink her fingers neatly between Hawke's thicker, human digits, "Leandra died?" she finished, forlornly.

Hawke remembered the wild, thrashing nights that had followed her mother's murder, and Merrill's calm arms holding her patiently as Hawke slowly shivered he way through recurring dreams of her mother's sewn-together corpse shambling towards her. Not once had the elf complained about being woken up, even though her bloodshot eyes over the weeks had given away how tired she was. Yet every night she had continued to stay in Hightown with Hawke, regardless of the guarantee of a sleepless night. Loyal to a fault; exactly the reason Hawke had feared bringing her along to face Corypheus.

"No" Hawke admitted, "The dreams of mother were always the same, and I knew they weren't real" Hawke baulked at the memory, "The frightening part was not being able to escape, knowing what was about to happen…not being able to stop it" Hawke finished, quietly.

"Then…" Merrill started uncertainly, "Hawke what could be worse than _that_?!" she exclaimed, tightening her grip on the human's hand. Hawke squeezed back appreciatively, glad for the support as she began to explain.

"They are so…_real"_ Hakwe gulped back a forming lump in the base of her throat, and placed her free hand to rub above her sternum. The action reminded her of the last nightmare yet again, of Merrill's crooked bones…and she found she couldn't look up at her.

"It was about me wasn't it" Merrill asked redundantly, plainly knowing the answer to the question before Hawke had nodded silent acknowledgement of the statement.

"I…" Hawke felt a terrible tightening spread round her jaw, her eyes wide and forehead strained with the horror, "_Maker_…" she breathed loudly, her heart pacing faster than if a high dragon had sauntered in through the window, "I can't tell you…" Hawke was gripping Merrill's hand so tightly her knuckles were beginning to turn white, the elf did not retract her hand however, "So horrible…" Hawke lost her ability to form words as her face scrunched into a desolate image of despair, dipping it towards her knees with the pain of recollection.

"Be still Ma Vhenan" Merrill soothed, stroking the back of Hawke's head and visibly relaxing when Hawke loosened the grip on the elf's hand, "Varric told me what the Nightmare Demon said to you; how he tried to use me against you"

"He did?" Hawke shot a fearful glance up towards to Merrill, shaking the slender woman's resolve as she saw the bare vulnerability of a child in the Champion's eyes.

"You care more about my life than you care about your own…" Merrill hummed evenly, as if the statement still amazed her after so much time had passed.

"I thought that was obvious" Hawke snorted misanthropically, looking back to the floor.

"That you're crazy?" Merrill teased, coaxing Hawke's bowed head towards her breast and kissing her on top of her forehead, "Yes, even I worked that out"

Hawke managed to force a smile, and visibly softened.

"Hawke, one woman cannot solve all of Thedas' problems" Merrill replied reassuringly.

"You sound like the Demon…" Hawke chuckled, "Not like _that" _she clarified, noticing the shocked look on Merrill's face and remembering that the elf had a low grasp on the concept of irony, "I'm sorry Merrill, did Varric tell you what else the Demon said to me?"

"No, nothing else" Merrill shook her head uncertainly, "Why?"

Hawke disengaged her grip from Merrill's hand completely and ran her hands over her agitated face, as if trying to force the tears back to the depths they were trying to emerge from.

"It said that nothing I did ever mattered…" her breath hitched once again and Merrill placed a hand on Hawke's thigh comfortingly as the Champion visibly blanched at her own weakness, "I tried to ignore it, but look at the evidence…" Hawke threw out an arm demonstratively, as if the proof was visible in the room.

"That's the problem with demons Hawke…" Merill whispered, shamefully, "They play on fears that you already suspect to be true; realities you could imagine to come to pass" Merrill tittered involuntarily, "Wouldn't be much of a threat if they told you that an army of kittens were about to invade Kirkwall would it?"

Hawke looked back at Merrill, and burst into a bemused laugh, despite the tears that were beginning to wind down her flushed cheeks.

"What you said earlier…about danger being an addiction for me" Hawke bit her lip as she considered whether or not this path of conversation was wise, but the elf made no indication for her to stop, "What was it like with the Eluvian? How did you know you'd…gone too far?"

Merrill paused, working her way around the question, and frowning at the memories. Suddenly, the elf rose from the bed and walked over the window, making Hawke's heart lurch with the fear that she had perhaps overstepped some sort of unspoken boundary with her lover. They had not spoken of the incident for a long time; perhaps with good reason as the only positive consequence of the entire episode was that Merrill gave up blood magic (for now). Hawke buried her face into her palms once more, but was startled by Merrill's voice piping up abruptly behind her.

"I didn't"

Hawke turned to look over her shoulder, and saw the beautiful elven outline silhouetted against the bright sunlight beaming into the room, bent over and elbows leaning on the windowsill.

"Didn't…"

"I didn't realise I _had_ gone too far" Merrill elaborated, "Not until…" Merrill swallowed audibly, "I forced you to talk about me like _that_ to my clan…just to stop it all turning into a bloodbath…" Merrill let out a long huff of deep disappointment at herself before turning back to Hawke, who watched on in mesmerised interest, having never heard Merrill speak quite this candidly about the event before, "Now do you see why I'm so worried about you Hawke? Does it have to get to the brink of disaster before you admit you need to stop?"

Hawke vividly remembered the incident at Sundermount; it was a memory that still ached at the pain of its recollection. The perceptive warrior had sensed the crouching violence hiding behind the livid eyes of the Dalish Clan after the death of Marethari, and her own silver tongue had seen a route out of a lost cause – at the expense of Merrill's pride. The alternative had been murdering an entire clan, and Hawke was not prepared to commit genocide. The pair had spoken of it only once since then; and although Hawke had reassured her that the patronising words spoken against the elf had been only for practical purposes, she had never escaped the lingering doubt that Merrill had taken the slight deeply to heart. Half the reason the elf had fallen in love with her in the first place was that Hawke had willingly trusted her with the Arulin'Holm.

Yet the more she compared the two situations, the more the parallels began to illuminate themselves. Hawke had been rash to let her personal feelings about Merrill cloud her strong views on blood magic, and, as the elf quite rightly pointed out, it had taken the possibility of mass murder to shake Merrill's conviction in her beliefs. Similarly, Merrill had trusted Hawke not to abandon her after she lost her entire clan, and yet the warrior had careered into a death trap without telling Merrill where she had gone.

"History is filled with the tales of fallen heroes Hawke. The Hero of Ferelden may have stopped the Blight, united Ferelden, but then mysteriously disappeared after surviving what should have been a fatal act. Dark magic, if you ask me." Merrill mused, and Hawke was inclined to trust her, "You gave everything trying to protect the mages and Orsino turns to Blood Magic regardless. You kill Corypheus and someone brings him back. You drive the Quanari out of Kirkwall only for a Tal-Vashoth to emerge as our saviour, and already she is busy re-fighting battles that have been fought over and over again" Merrill growled darkly, "Templars and Mages, Darkspawn, forbidden magic, people always trying their hardest to make everything so damned…_horrible_" Merrill turned sharply and threw her hands out decisively, describing it in a simplistic way that still retained a hint of her renowned innocence.

"You're right" Hawke sighed, "Perhaps I can't change any of that, perhaps the World can't be saved, but where does that leave someone like me?" Hawke trembled, laden with heavy emotion, "Who wants a bitter has-been with a martyr complex?" Hawke spat, "Superseded by the next _great hero?"_

"_I do_" Merrill declared, swiftly cutting across the room and kneeling before Hawke, "Maybe Thedas is star-crossed Ma Vhenan but you already changed _my_ World" Merrill grabbed Hawke's hands with urgency and looked up at the warrior's bowed face, "We have the rest of our lives to finish, do you want it to be this way forever?"

Hawke was unable to reply, her vision misted by uncontrollable weeping as she tried desperately to control it.

"Because you _know_ I will stay" Merrill emphasised, "It was _you_ who told me that whatever happens next, we do it together. I intend to keep that promise"

Hawke allowed the emotion to burst the barriers of her internal dams, and with it came the flood of a memory from her arrival in Skyhold.

* * *

><p>"Marion"<p>

Hawke turned suddenly, alarmed at the sound of her first name; a name that very few people used, let alone _knew_. What she was greeted was a gaunt, delicate-looking young man, skin almost translucent, and hair so blonde it was closer to white. A broad, floppy hat fell over his blank face, almost comically too large for him; yet somehow it just added to his ethereal presence. He stared emotionlessly at Hawke, stealing her objections from her mouth with his guileless innocence.

"You can see me" he stated.

"Yes" Hawke frowned, flabbergasted, and certain he had not been there a moment before, "Who-"

"Tattoos cascading across a beautiful face like droplets from a waterfall. Eyes you could drown in like the deepest lagoon. A smile that distracts you from the chaos, the death. She is elven, Dalish, you believe she will never love a human." He declared in broken sentences, suddenly, becoming animated and lost in the description of what appeared to be one of Hawke's memories.

"How do you-" Hawke began.

"But she _does_." Cole continued, "She comes to you. It is wonderful. It is _right_." He opined emphatically, with a certainty that most humans would not achieve. "You are her temperance. She is your anchor."

Hawke gave up trying to interrupt the young man, and watched on in amazement at his powerfully accurate statements. In the blink of the eye he had shifted positions and was now behind her suddenly; forcing Hawke to swivel reactively.

"Without you she will have no restraint, without her you drift wildly in open waters like a lost ship. It is the same, yet different; you are two shades of the same colour."

'_How does he know all this?'_ Hawke thought, and at the same time struck speechless by how profoundly he had understood her relationship with Merrill; apparently better than she had herself! Was he dangerous? Currently he was giving her some very valuable advice, but demons had their ways of lulling you to their charms. She remained guarded as he continued.

"What _is_ that colour Marian?"

Any sense of defence fell at his unexpected question. She had no answer, and the act of trying to form one was mentally exhausting. Hawke was left to gawp in a mixture of exasperation and wonder, whilst Cole's unchanging demeanour remained frustratingly neutral. He wasn't trying to get a rise out of Hawke; he genuinely wanted to know the answer to such a perplexing question. What colour suited two people who had lost almost everything trying to do (what they believed to be) the right thing? Red for blood? Black for inscrutability? Orange for the rage of flames? White for the purity of love? Perhaps she was taking the question too literally, or too morbidly.

Before she could answer, he dropped the subject suddenly, apparently having said all he felt necessary.

"You have left her behind. You think it is right, and I cannot tell, it is too loud to hear the right words. But it cannot last, or the colours will be lost"

Hawke watched in amazement as the man disappeared instantly before her eyes, leaving behind only a lingering voice

"_I will not make you forget_."

* * *

><p>When Hawke broke free from the vivid memory, she found herself crumpled in Merrill's arms, and she allowed herself to remain there, knowing that something had snapped within her that had been creaking from the pressure of the heavy burdens piled upon it. The elf was patient, and held her in silence, making no mention of the conversation that had come before. Hawke allowed herself to melt into the surprisingly strong arms and succumb to one moment of bare weakness, in the presence of the only person she would trust with such a confidence. For once the roles had been flipped, and Hawke relished it, for the brief amount of time she could bare it.<p>

"Give me another way" Hawke spoke, after a time that seemed infinite.

"We disappear" Merrill replied, simply as if it were obvious, "Once this is all over, we leave"

"But…" Hawke began, counter-arguments already tripping out of her mouth, objections and worries stumbling over each other to get traction.

"You don't think you deserve some peace Hawke?" Merrill stroked the back of Hawke's neck and the warrior closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasure of the gentle Dalish fingers, "Thedas has the Inquisition now" she smiled, "You're off the hook"

The idea had an appeal that had never seemed tempting to Hawke before this moment. To drift away on an unknown breeze, lose the "Champion" title, surrender to tranquillity…her imagination alone was enough to loosen the vice grip that had tightened around her heart for so many years, trapping her in the confines of her own destiny. Merrill was right, Thedas did have this aura of fate about it, a history of disasters peppered with heroes who fell in the pursuit of righting its endless list of wrongs.

Hawke had given so much, only to lose what little she had cobbled together as a Ferelden refugee. Perhaps it was time to retake some dignity before it destroyed the both of them.

Hawke pushed up from Merrill's lap, a persistent stinging ravishing her eyes and regarded the Dalish woman face-on. But before she could fully consider the merits of such an existence and provide her with an answer, an overwhelming blast of exhaustion assaulted her, and her muscles seemed to spasm beneath her and fail, forcing Merrill to grab hold of her under her armpits.

"Hawke-" Merrill cried out, alarmed.

"I'm sorry…" Hawke murmured weakly, "I…"

"Hush…" Merrill guided Hawke back down onto the bed, and the human offered no resistance, "You are safe…_Arla"_ Merill purred.

Hawke felt the soft cushioning of the familiar bed beneath her, which somehow seemed softer than it had over the many nights she had been here. A blissful absence of noise blanketed the usual insistent ringing in her sensitive ears, and her limbs gave way to indulgent relaxation. Hawke closed her eyes, and sleep took her as instantly as the violent snap of a high dragon's jaws. It mattered little that it was not night time; the need was too great.

Hawke closed her eyes, and everything became clear.

For the first night since the Fade, the nightmares didn't come.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Epilogue<strong>_

_They came one day, the human and the elf. The villagers could not tell you where they came from, only that the old house that lay slightly into the mountain rise was finally occupied again. Nobody knew quite how ownership had fallen to the newcomer, and when they asked, she would only say that a lot of people owed her favours._

_The human was clearly of noble birth, the women of the village would gossip; clearly fallen from favour, or driven out in the mage rebellion, or the blight! Her clothes were too fine to be a commoner, her tone too proper, and turning up with an elven servant! She was used to power, they would whisper, and had fled now her name has been tarnished. The rumours began to evolve...perhaps some scandal? A tryst with a commoner? An affair with a king?_

_But it was instantly clear that the elf was no servant. One of the most influential women witnessed the human return to the elf one day with some simple flowers, and the look of pure adoration that beamed back from the tattooed knife-ear was unmistakable. Not only that, but the small patch of garden that had been barren began to flourish, and people swore on the Maker they saw the elf casting over the flower beds that sprang up. The whispering became more vicious, and children were shied away from the house of the disgraced noble and the Dalish mage._

_Yet, the human was always polite, always paid her way. Whilst she clearly had a surplus of money left over from her old life, she presented herself as humble. She took manual labouring jobs, gave lessons to young men and women who wanted to train in combat. The more open-minded of the village grew to welcome her. She had a sense of distance about her, as if she was always looking out across an empty horizon that nobody else was able to see. She could sometimes be caught sat on a rock on the mountain rise, eyes soft and the wind buffeting her short hair in Thedas' strong winds._

_Even the hardest of heart began to chip away at the relationship between the human and the elf; the gentle care that they bestowed on each other, the stolen moments; a hand held, a cheek stroked, a shoulder kissed. Their love had the delicacy that only strength allowed, beautiful architecture carved into the strongest foundations._

_The stories began to shift as strange anomalies rocked the village: raider camps found decimated, strange visitors such as a roguish red-haired dwarf, or a Rivani Sea Captain, glimpses of weapons within the wooden walls of the house. Reports came in that the Champion of Kirkwall had once again vanished, taking her Blood Mage lover in tow. Could it be that the kind stranger on the hill was the vanquisher who had spearheaded Kirkwall's revolution? That the shy elf was a corrupted apostate?_

_But then they would catch the strong human gently attending to an animal, or quietly smiling to a curious child, or see the elf grin with the wonder at a passing butterfly, or calmly attend to her human when she was in a state of grief, and the suspicions dissipated like a melting glacier. It was impossible was it not? The Champion of the legends could not me so…__human__. A blood mage could not be anything but an abomination._

_Yet no one could deny that those times were the safest the village had ever known. _

_Then one day, as if spirited by magic, they were gone. No traces left except the flourishing flowers in the elf's spreading garden, which never seemed to wither, even against the lashings of the relentless hand of Mother Nature._

_They left behind only the whispers which circled like pollen, catching on the tongues of the generations and leaving a curious taste of mystery, all the more sweeter for never being solved. _


End file.
